


And, Tell Me, Why Do Men Fight Wars?

by WizardSandwich



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Corruption, Cultural Differences, Gen, Investigations, and doesn't often do research for fic, i just love song titles i'm sorry, police work described by someone who only occasionally watched police shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Ironhide is transferred to Praxus and Prowl is made to be his partner. The longer he stays, the more truths are revealed.
Relationships: Ironhide & Prowl
Kudos: 12





	And, Tell Me, Why Do Men Fight Wars?

**Author's Note:**

> i started this at one in the morning so it might be shit idk

Prowl is called to his captain’s office on a slow day in the Praxian enforcer station. His captain is a tall mech, one who towers over Prowl, and he is glad to see him sitting when Prowl enters his office.

“Captain,” Prowl greets, dipping into a traditional Praxian bow. When Prowl had transferred from Petrex to Praxus, the custom had practically been scolded into him.

Hertz stands then. Part of Prowl wishes he has stayed sitting. “Prowl,” Hertz greets. “Do you know why I’ve called you in here?”

A million scenarios come to life in Prowl’s processor and he considers none of them. It would not do to speculate himself into anxiety, even if the first thing that comes to mind is news of his being let go.

“No, sir,” Prowl says instead.

Hertz nods, like this is the answer that he had expected. He leans down, grabbing a datapad, before straightening again. “Recently,” Hertz says, “we got a transfer request from Iacon. I’m assigning him to you.”

Prowl frowns. He has nothing against transfers, of course, being one himself. But even Hertz knew of Prowl’s difficulties with other bots. Most of them didn’t understand the ways that Prowl tried to communicate with them.

“You know that this will not end well,” Prowl says bluntly.

Hertz says, “Call it an exercise in communication. Primus knows you need it.”

It’s not quite an insult but it feels like one. Prowl lets his doorwings raise at the words. Hertz had never bothered to learn how to read them. Prowl was safe to express himself even in the bowels of the Praxian station.

“Of course, sir.” Prowl speaks steadily. “Can I inquire as to this mech’s designation?”

“Ironhide,” Hertz says. “He’s one of the Prime’s own enforcers. We couldn’t just reject him without the Iaconian government getting their cables in a twist.”

Hertz’s disgust for the Prime is almost palpable. True, Sentinel Prime wasn’t a _good mech,_ but Praxus had its own special brand of disgust for Primes. In fact, they didn’t respect them at all.

Prowl searches through what he knows of the Prime’s ensemble and only comes up with the big, red mech. “Why is he transferring if he’s one of Prime’s?” Prowl asks.

Hertz shrugs, “I didn’t ask. But I think they mentioned something about an investigation. The pricks.”

Prowl doesn’t exactly know how the dots connect yet, but he imagines he will soon. Though, at this rate, he thinks Hertz has assigned him to Ironhide just to hinder the investigation. Communication, cooperation, and comradery were important during these type of cases.

“I see,” Prowl says, after a long moment. “Is that all?”

Hertz nods, holding out the datapad, “Take it. It has all the relevant information on your partner. Arrival time, closed cases, that kind of thing.”

Prowl just barely gets a grip on the datapad before Hertz lets go. Prowl almost drops it, but manages to keep it in his servos. Hertz doesn’t look at him as he settles back down behind his desk, picking up another datapad. Prowl slips out of the room without another word.

“How’d it go?” Barricade, the only other Petrexian officer, asks as Prowl passes by.

“Fine,” Prowl says, voice clipped. His doorwings seem to raise even higher. He has no concerns about Barricade reading him, the mech not socialized in Petrex like Prowl was. “There’s a new transfer,” Prowl says, stopping and turning to face him.

It’s a feeble attempt at explanation, but he knows that if he doesn’t try, Barricade will hound him for the information. Truly, it’s not much of a hassle, he supposes, if only to make sure the mech doesn’t bother him during important work.

“Ah, nice.” Barricade nods with something close to interest. “Who’s the mech?”

Prowl says, “Ironhide. He’s from Iacon.”

“Pricks,” Barricade snorts. “Lemme guess, he’s an aft or something so they wanted the mech least affected by that kind of slag with him?”

Barricade’s explanation would almost be kind if it didn’t align more with the station’s perception of Prowl. They thought him cold and apathetic. Emotionless, sometimes. Prowl did not mind when he was not reminded of it, but when he was he found himself getting aggravated. Praxus liked to see itself as the standard and never bothered to learn the subtleties of Petrexian—well, _doorwing_ —communication.

“I suppose,” Prowl says, not willing to have that kind of conversation this cycle. It would put him in a worse mood.

Barricade nods again, as if that is all the confirmation he needs. “Well, good luck, Prowl. You’re going to need it.”

“Thank you.” Prowl’s voice is stiff, though that is not unusual.

Prowl doesn’t say anything else as he walks back to his desk, but there are many other things he could say. Some of them are self-degrading and others are plain rude. None of them would do to speak.

When he sits down at his desk, he unlocks the datapad, looking to read it. His refueling break is set to start so he has no time to lose.


End file.
